


livin' in a bubble

by ladyofdecember



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, The O.S.I., The Unicorn in Captivity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdecember/pseuds/ladyofdecember
Summary: Rusty wakes up to find the events of The Unicorn In Captivity the night before to be almost too much to bear and has to deal with his new reality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently rewatched all of season seven and I still can’t get over this episode. It’s so good and awful and horrifying and sad so yeah here’s a bit of work based on the morning after The Unicorn In Captivity.
> 
> “Are we crazy?  
> Livin' our lives through a lens  
> Trapped in our white picket fence  
> Like ornaments  
> So comfortable, we're livin' in a bubble, bubble  
> So comfortable, we cannot see the trouble, trouble
> 
> Aren't you lonely  
> Up there in utopia  
> Where nothing will ever be enough?  
> Happily numb”  
> \--Chained to the Rhythm by Katy Perry

The morning after when he finally woke up had been one of the most pleasant mornings he'd had in a long time. He was more than used to the first beams of morning light piercing through him and into his eyes, shaking him awake to his very core. The initial pleasantness of awakening in a soft bed, only to realize with sudden heavy certainty that things were not going to stay pleasant for long. Remembering the previous day's events, whatever they had been and any other mistakes that he'd made in the previous days or weeks prior had really placed a firm seal on whatever slight contentment he'd woken up with.

So when Rusty awoke this particular morning, there were no regrets he had been made to fear. There were no mistakes he had to cringe about. There was just... a hopefulness surrounding him. Maybe he'd finally done it, maybe he'd turned things around for good.

He'd jumped out of bed that morning with an optimism not felt since his college days. It was an optimism that would soon be crushed when he received the news downstairs.

...

Brock had filled him in on what happened though he seemed painfully reluctant to do so. The blind rage Rusty had flew into was doing more to keep him right lipped as the seconds ticked on.

Hank and Dean were absent of course and that was nothing new. He found himself hard pressed to recall if the boys had even been around last night. He wondered how many days it had been since he'd even seen them.

And then the real, true terror of it all hit him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?! You... you took time away from me! From my life! I... I... don't even know what day it is!" He began pacing the kitchen floor with Brock hesitantly rising from his place at the table to try to calm him.

"Doc, look-"

"No! No, was that all last night? It was to me! How do I know you didn't lock me up for weeks on end?!"

"Well, because, what would be the point in that-"

Rusty interrupted him again, now completely furious. "You can't just do that! I... I have rights!"

His eyes darted back and forth in his head as he considered his options, considered smashing the man's breakfast plate all over the floor. He needed to do something, anything. He had never felt more betrayed.

"Would ya listen to me?!" The blonde began to raise his voice as he clutched the man's shoulders and began to shake him. "It's not a big deal! It's not that bad. I did what I had to do because Hunter told me to and you were gettin' outta hand and that's just how it has to be, alright?"

The scientist went still, swallowing nervously as his world came crashing down upon him. He blinked up at the bodyguard curiously and deadly calm. 

"So I'm just supposed to let you steal my inventions-"

"Hey! I didn't steal anything!"

"Just... just go along with whatever you and The O.S.I. want me to do? Like a... like a prisoner?! Like a unicorn in captivity?!"

Rusty began to shake, feeling more and more unnerved by the whole conversation, the fact that reality was crashing down around him. 

Brock removed his hands and stepped back from him looking very tired for someone that presumably just woke up. But then again, who even knew anymore? Maybe this was an illusion too. Brock was an illusion. The sun coming up in the distance was an illusion.

This whole damned kitchen was an illusion.

Rusty shook his head and began to hyperventilate, much to Brock's immediate concern.

He reached out a hand to help. "Doc... "

The man slapped it back away from him. "Don't! Leave me the fuck alone! I mean it!"

Brock gave him a leveled look. "You're makin' this into a bigger deal than it is. What's wrong with you? You know better than me how it works, this fucking life you chose. The O.S.I. is there to protect you but also protect everyone else. That's their whole business. Now, all of a sudden you have a problem with it?"

Rusty was at a loss for words so he glared up at the bodyguard.

"Yes, they stepped in and interfered with your life. Yes, it sucks. What are ya gonna do? Just... just forget about it. You don't want to make waves with this, Doc."

The man seemed to be done with the conversation, going back over to his coffee and eggs at the table. Rusty couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the absolute absurdity of the situation.

"That's the problem. It... it really is, Brock. I don't want to pretend anymore! I can't just... just... forget everything and keep living this lie!" He took a few deep breaths to try to calm down but everything about the situation seemed so damn painful, he felt like needles were pricking at his brain the more he tried to just calm down.

"So what are you sayin'?" Brock ground out, obviously frustrated.

"I'm saying... I'm... " He sighed, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. With a huff, he turned away from him. "I don't know what I'm saying!"

There was dead silence between them then, the emptiness of the penthouse real and tangible and Rusty had never felt smaller and more alone.

Taking a breath which was really more of a gulp, he began to feel the fear begin to consume him. He looked back up at Brock, at the stoniness of his expression and stormed away back to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what I'm doing with this. I just wanted to write something expressing the rage and horrific sadness I feel Rusty would be experiencing. So if this is a bit OOC, I apologize.
> 
> “Sorry to my unknown lover  
> Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really  
> Starts to fall in love with me  
> Sorry to my unknown lover  
> Sorry I could be so blind  
> Didn't mean to leave you   
> And all of the things that we had behind”  
> \--Sorry by Halsey

Staring at nothing in the corner of his room, Rusty suddenly began to feel very lightheaded. He wondered if maybe he should just go to bed. It was already pretty late, nearing 11pm and there wasn't much going on. There never was.

With his sons out of the house, time had started to slow down a bit, often the seconds ticking by feeling like minutes. The minutes feeling like hours and on and on.

He was alone in his ivory tower just contemplating life and what little there was left of it still.

Perhaps he was being melodramatic and he'd ask his friends if they were around. But alas, they wouldn't be coming around tonight. Nor tomorrow most likely.

Falling back on to his pillow, he slowly raised his hands to clap twice, the signal for his lights to cease, bathing him in darkness.

As the slow crawl of the curtains all around him began their descent, the various lights of the other buildings were chuffed* out. He was truly in darkness now, the perfect environment to get a good night's sleep.

But sleep would not come, likely never again now that he had the troubling knowledge of just how far The O.S.I. had been willing to go, how likely they would try similar measures with him in the future. Paranoia ate at him as he laid there in silence, unable to sleep, tormented by his own mind.

Blinking up at the nothingness and blackness of the room, Rusty couldn't help but think about how helpless he was in all of this. What could he do? He didn't want to leave this life behind. It was something he had once, long ago, pledged to stand by and to protect.

Once upon a time, he'd looked upon The O.S.I. as truly a magnificent thing, a strong, smart organization of people dedicated to keeping the world civil and safe. Most importantly, they'd become dedicated to keeping him safe.

And then, there was the most crucial part in all of this. There was the fact that Brock was so intertwined in The O.S.I. and caught up in it all, that he really couldn't even see beyond it, the real reality of it all.

He was his longtime bodyguard, his friend, his one time lover and apparently as of late, his captor? No, no that word was too harsh for the blonde, muscular man. He could never look at him that way, no matter what seemed to be happening between them.

Still, the whole situation ate at him, at his very soul. He felt conflicted, betrayed and hurt. No, more than hurt, deeply wounded and he didn't know if this was the kind of thing he had in him to forgive.

Deciding he wasn't going to be able to sleep after all of this, Rusty staggered up, still clothed in his speedsuit and sat perched on the edge of his bed.

He had to work this out somehow. He couldn't do this anymore.

…

Downstairs, Brock was finishing his last cigarette of the night out on the rooftop patio. He stared at the shining lights playing across their pool as the cold breeze began to pick up causing him to shiver a bit. It probably wasn't wise to be standing outside in winter in a short sleeve tee but he was honestly too tired to go back in for a coat. He just wanted to finish his cigarette and head inside to go to bed. He couldn't deal with all this emotional nonsense going on. It was ridiculous or at least, that was what he told himself.

Stubbing out the cigarette butt, Brock gingerly dropped it in the tiny metal can he kept near the door and headed back inside, trying not to think too much about how his actions had hurt Rusty. As he turned off the lights in the kitchen and stared up at the dark staircase above, he wondered if maybe this time things had gone too far.

Walking quietly into his room, Brock leaned quietly against the bedroom door with a sigh, trying to ignore the guilty pangs in his chest.

This was going to be a difficult event for the scientist to let go of and the blonde just hoped he hadn't irradiated any last threads of trust they had between them.

Pulling back the covers, the bodyguard wasted no time in undressing and slipping into the bed, hoping to get a good night's sleep. 

...

Gathering his things in a bag in the darkness of his bedroom, Rusty was hurried and just this side of panicked as he did so.

He'd only take the essentials, only what he needed for a day or so just to get out of the city. He didn't need to take much. There wasn't much he actually cared about.

It was nearing 2am now, late enough that the man was almost certain the blonde downstairs had retired to his bed. The house was silent though nowadays this was a common occurrence at any hour of the day.

It was such a strange thing, throwing clothes into a bag in the middle of the night, making some great escape. He felt seventeen again, his thoughts taking him back to the various escapes he made in the night back in his youth. But this now, this was different. He shook his head of the memories and hastened his work.

Climbing the stairs towards the hangar one at a time, he held his breath in an attempt to be as quiet as a mouse, not wanting to be detected. This was the surest route to exit the tower without detection as the only other way out was the building's front door, complete with security systems sure to awaken the bodyguard or worse, Hatred who was likely sleeping downstairs in the lobby.

Rusty stood at the door leading to the hangar, still debating whether or not to go through with his plan. Was this the right thing to do? Really? Just run away from it all like some child or some petulant teenager?

Still, he needed to make a change. He felt claustrophobic here now and he couldn't keep living this way. What could he do?

Taking a deep breath as if to steady himself, Rusty quickly punched in his security code to unlock the hangar door.

Making his way inside, his eyes soon landed on their jet, his path to freedom. He watched the way the lights glinted across the surface of it, all shiny and spectacular in it's glory.

Climbing up inside of it and tossing his bag into the seat next to him, Rusty was suddenly overcome with a sense of profound sadness.

There in the cockpit, a place he'd spent many days over the past two years, he was feeling very sentimental and the worries in the back of his mind began to creep in ten-fold. 

He worried what Brock would say to the boys about his leaving. What would he think about his choosing to leave them all behind?

He shook his head of the thoughts. He couldn't turn back now, couldn't give in to sentimentality. No one had given him a chance. No one had considered how he'd feel about the events that took place. Why should he care now?

Memories of him and the bodyguard flying together tried to persuade him to go back downstairs all the same but he ignored them and began activating the jet's engines to take off.

The ceiling above opened up, the normal helipad on top giving way for the jet to spring forth through it and out into the chilly, night air.

He was sure that the building's security systems were alarming and Brock would be waking up in total confusion. He had no choice now. There was truly no turning back.

Glancing back down at the tower one last time, the place he'd learned to call home for the last two years, Rusty threw the jet's forward propulsion into gear and maneuvered up and away from the city without looking back.

...

Crushing his pillow to his ears due to the sudden noise and thrashing about at the loud sirens going off, Brock took only a moment to fully come awake and realize what was going on.

Irritated but ever diligent, Brock threw himself out of bed to run down the hall and check the computer system. 

"What the fuck?" He whispered out loud to himself as he noted which exits were alarming on the screen. It was the hangar noting that the jet had just departed but why? How could that be?

Brock sighed as it all became clear to him. He turned and glanced up at the stairs that led to the master bedroom, knowing what he'd find when he went in there.

...

Hatred was already on his watch panicked calling him from downstairs but he quickly swiped the call away and ignored him.

Taking each step at a time, feeling more and more guilty as he climbed the staircase, Brock soon reached the closed door that led to one Rusty Venture's bedroom.

Walking in to the dark room, he found exactly what he'd expected. There, beyond the messy bed sheets and covers, the various clothes and things littering the carpet, was a single note.

Brock stared down at the paper, almost not believing what was happening. Had the man really left? He took a deep breath, readying himself for the news that he knew to be true. Rusty was gone. Probably forever this time.

He gingerly picked up the note and began to read it all in a rush, trying to ignore the hurt building up inside of his chest.

'BROCK -

I'm sorry. I can't live like this so I'm leaving. For good this time. Don't come after me. I'm serious. You won't find me this time.

Goodbye.'

Taking a deep breath, he let the note fall back down to the covers below and wondered how he'd let things get so out of control? It was almost as if the family was breaking apart as though that was how it was meant to be.

Had Colorado been the only thing forcing them all together? Was there some invisible thread there linking them? Or had it just been time that had made them all drift apart?

As Brock stood alone in the empty penthouse, he wondered if maybe he ought to let the man go and just let him be. After all, he wanted nothing to do with him and though technically he was bound by The O.S.I. to guard him, to watch him, he could always quit and retire away somewhere.

Feeling more than a little lost and empty inside, he turned and headed back downstairs to do the only thing he could do.

He took off his watch, put it on silent to avoid any more calls from Hatred and went back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

“I'm fine.”

Rusty was sitting in his hotel room in an undisclosed location somewhere near Miami. He had played it pretty safe, staying off the radar for the most part save for his jet. Currently, it was stashed at a nearby airport under a pseudonym though he had his suspicions the clerk he talked to had seen through the ruse.

“No, you're not. You're clearly not!” Came Billy's shrill voice from the other end of the line.

“Yes I am. I'm completely, perfectly, 100% fine, Billy.” He huffed. "And no I'm not coming back, so don't even ask." He angrily griped into the phone as he put on his shoes, intent on going out to the local restaurant scene and making having some mimosas. He had to get out of the dark hotel room he'd been huddled up in.

Billy sighed. "You know I'm sympathetic to your issue but don't you think maybe you're overreacting? Just a little bit?"

"Billy! I'm not the only one they've fucked with! Remember getting your memory wiped?! You're just as much a prisoner. Why aren't you angry about this?"

Silence met him from the other end of the phone. He could only imagine Billy sitting there speechless while a nearby White was begging to be given the phone.

Rusty's eyes lit up in recognition as he picked up on the other's voice. "Oh yeah, it's all for love right? You're so pathetic." Truly, the irony had struck him that it was now Billy who was in the throes of devotion and love and turning a blind eye to whatever else was going on. It had been him for so many years, it still was. He wanted to hurt the doctor for daring to believe his own lies for so long.

The doctor sputtered in indignation. "Fuck you! You know that's not it! You know, it's really not hard to figure out why you don't have any friends! You're such a dick!"

The bald man rolled his eyes as he sighed, easing up on his tone a bit. "You're my friend. You both are... "

There was a pause as Billy angrily unfolded his arms from across his chest, letting the phone drop from between his neck and shoulder and into his non-robotic hand. He looked away towards the far corner of the lab where White sat eating his breakfast burrito. He seemed to consider something then. "Yeah. I am. Look, I'm just saying... maybe it's not as big of a deal as you're making it. And you're right, I did get taken advantage of. But my life is so much better now. I'm not saying I'd let it happen again but... well... "

He didn't seem to have an ending to that sentence. And Rusty didn't have time to wait around for him to find one.

"Look, I gotta go. I'll... I'll talk to you soon. I promise." The man said lowly before hanging up the call leading Billy to stare worriedly at his cellphone.

...

Scraping the burnt parts off of his toast, Brock stared grumpily down at his "breakfast". It was nothing more than toast and black coffee. They were out of milk again and he hadn't felt like going out for groceries. There was that soy stuff but he didn't even understand what it was. Besides, it was Dean's vegan stuff.

Speaking of the teen, Dean was staring down at his cereal and even though the room had been silent for ten to fifteen minutes now, the blonde could hear all the questions swirling in the teen's mind.

"Eat your cereal, Dean."

The boy turned to look up at him as if just realizing he was there. He picked up his spoon and continued eating the soggy grains again. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Brock bit back an irritated groan and just dropped his butter knife on the plate with a clatter. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before looking at the boy before him.

"Dean-"

"Because I don't think he will." The brunette interrupted him, speaking a mile a minute. "I think that this time he's just decided to leave for good. He's always wanted to. Just never could because of us. But now that Hank's gone... "

He trailed off sadly, averting his gaze and seemingly deciding to just wolf down his cereal instead.

Brock watched him quietly, noticed the way he seemed to set his gaze on the table before him, no longer interested in talking. "I think... " He paused. "Your dad'll be back soon. He's just... thinking. Needs some time away."

Dean quickly drained his cereal bowl and wiped at his face angrily. "Yeah well, it must be nice to just get away once in a while."

Brock watched as he practically jumped to his feet in anger and grabbed the bag Brock just noticed was placed on the counter.

Throwing it over his shoulder, his gaze hovered over Brock's face for only a second before looking away again. "I have to get back to the school early. Project." He shrugged, looking away.

"With Jared?"

Dean nodded mutely, all of his anger seeming to leave his body as Brock just stared him down.

"Yeah, alright, kid. Do you need a ride back?"

"No!" Dean said a little too quickly before guiltily looking up at the bodyguard, his gaze softening. "No thanks, think I'm gonna get a coffee on the way back so it wouldn't make sense for you to drive me."

Brock nodded curtly and turned back to his breakfast, leaving Dean to hesitate awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen. Finally, he turned to head toward the elevator, pushing the button to open the door with trepidation.

Brock kept his back to him the entire time Dean noted with a sense of anxiety. Before descending in the elevator, he called out to the man once more. "Can you just... let me know when you hear from Pop?"

The blonde turned in his chair to regard the teen once more. He gave him a grim smile and a nod. "I will, Dean. Have a good day."

The doors whooshed closed, severing the conversation.

...

Rusty sat on the edge of his hotel bed, drink in hand, staring miserably at his phone.

On it, the messaging app was opened to Brock's number and he was slowly contemplating what to say to the man.

On one hand, he could apologize for being so babyish and ask for him to come get him but that would be admitting defeat. He could explain how outrageous it was again that the bodyguard had tricked him into handing over his inventions but they'd been over that already and what was the point?

Tossing the phone onto the bed beside him, the man leaned over and rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. Rusty was tired, tired of running, tired of accepting that his life was everyone else's business but his own.

Staring at the TV before him, he blindly reached for the remote beside him and turned on some infomercial. It was nearing 2am after all. Any sane person would be asleep, anyone... with a family or a sense of purpose.

His shoulders sagged as he heaved a sigh and stared at the woman on the TV getting her hair done. He'd once had a family, had a sense of purpose. Or had it all been a lie from the get-go?

Rusty bit his lip and stared hard at the phone on the bed next to him. His mind whirled with a thousand questions.

Did Brock really love him? Was it all just a game? Was convenience ever a factor when it came to the OSI his job? Did it even matter?

The man took a deep breath in and out and then another and another before snatching up the phone and going to the hotel window.

Glancing out at the barren parking lot, at the moon up above, Rusty began typing a text message slowly to the man occupying his thoughts. He didn't know exactly what to say and kept deleting each sentence he typed.

'I miss you.' He finally settled on and hit send without another moment's thought.

Biting his lip again in anxiety, he waited with baited breath for any sort of response. It was late of course, 2am, why would there be one?

And then, suddenly, a light tone filled the room, announcing a new text message.

Going to sit on the edge of the bed again, Rusty held his breath as he read it. 

...

Brock sat staring at some late night infomercial on the TV in the penthouse. The house was quiet, Dean deciding to spend the weekend at the University and with Jared. 

The blonde grimaced at the TV. He didn't like that kid.

Eyeing the clock on the far wall, the bodyguard wondered if he should get some sleep. It was after all, well past midnight. The thing was... he just couldn't.

The house was too quiet, too... empty. He hated it.

Brock had never been one for isolation, for the solitary life. Growing up, he'd always flourished in groups. Being the popular kid wherever he went meant lots of friends, lots of... distractions. Even his work in The O.S.I. wasn't solitary work. You were tasked with getting a job done with a partner. Nothing about it was quiet either.

Rubbing at his eyes tiredly, the man clicked off the TV with the remote and then tossed it haphazardly on the table before him. He'd better try to rest even if he didn't feel like it. No doubt Hatred would be busting down their door first thing in the morning, Sunday morning or not.

It was then that his phone sounded from the coffee table, the light of the screen illuminating the room a bit.

Could it be?

No, he wouldn't let himself dare hope.

Brock gingerly picked up his phone and quickly scanned the message. It was the Doc, surprisingly, and he seemed to want to talk.


End file.
